


The Perils of Eavesdropping

by Elayna



Category: Men in Black (Movies), Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, First Kiss, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-09
Updated: 2016-10-09
Packaged: 2018-08-20 12:02:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8248030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elayna/pseuds/Elayna
Summary: After overhearing a strange conversation, Rodney begins researching a mysterious man in black.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [popkin16](https://archiveofourown.org/users/popkin16/gifts).



Visiting the morgue never bothered Rodney McKay. A dead body was merely a collection of muscles, bones, tissues, and fluids no longer animated by what people liked to regard as the soul, but what Rodney considered the intellect. And the memory of his intellect would live forever, because of the scientific advances he expected to make, and quite likely, because he'd discover a way to download his brain into a computer, allowing his genius to survive the loss of his corporeal form. 

He did, however, prefer to avoid hysterical mourners, so paid careful attention as he approached the door of Carson Beckett's domain. The door was slightly ajar, which was helpful, and at first Rodney thought Carson was alone. Then he heard the slight murmur of Carson's Scottish brogue and another man's voice, an American by the accent. 

"Once again, Doctor, you've been very helpful." 

"Once again? I dinna think we've met before." 

"We have, but don't worry about it. With all the alien activity lately, we'll probably have this conversation again." 

Alien activity? Rodney frowned, wondering what the fellow was referencing. 

"You're very confusing, Mr. - I'm sorry, what did you say your name was?" 

Well, at least Carson was confused too. 

"I didn't, but you can just call me S." 

As he was listening, Rodney ducked to one side of the vending machine by the morgue doorway, knowing it would hide him from the mysterious S when he exited. The light from the door seemed to flare brighter, and Rodney could hear the man murmuring to Carson, but couldn't distinguish the words. Then the man pushed a covered body on a gurney out of the door. Rodney caught only a brief glimpse of his profile and wildly mussed hair. He was wearing black sunglasses, a bizarre affectation when inside a building. The view of his slim back as he walked down the corridor was quite pleasant. He was wearing a black suit, which seemed an insane choice in New York's muggy summer. Rodney was attired in a light blue shirt and tan dockers, both of a breathable cotton fabric that helped him stay cool. 

"So who was that fellow?" he asked, walking into the morgue. 

Carson looked up from typing in notes on his computer. "What fellow?" 

"Um, the one who just left?" he said, gesturing to the doorway. 

"No one just left, Rodney. I've been alone at least an hour." 

"Pardon me," he said, in a tone that no way indicated he was actually asking to be pardoned, "I saw him. Mr. suit guy? Pushing a body?" 

Carson looked both perplexed and irritated, an expression Rodney saw not infrequently. "I haven't seen anyone wearing a suit today, Rodney. And no one in the last hour, I told you." 

"Yes, yes, you did," Rodney said slowly, and with great emphasis. "He just left. I saw him. Pushing a body." 

"No, no, you didn't," Carson responded, shrugging off his white lab coat. "Now do you want to have lunch or do you want to continue this pointless prank?" 

This was all... very strange. Rodney knew what he saw, but he also knew Carson wasn't the type to blatantly lie to a friend. Which meant... Carson had forgotten the man? Was he suffering from early dementia? No, several of Rodney's elderly relatives had had dementia, and this instant forgetting of a person's presence wasn't normal. He remembered the man's strange comment that they had met before and would meet again, because of the recent alien activity. As in, people who were illegally in the country? Or... aliens? Non-humans? What had been under that sheet? 

"Rodney?" Carson prompted, making Rodney realize he'd been standing and staring at his friend, mouth slightly agape. "Lunch?" 

"Yes, lunch," he said, waving toward the door, indicating that Carson should go first. "That Thai place?" He glanced back at Carson's computer as he left, checking to see that there was a webcam. He'd be embarrassed if hacking the New York City coroner's office and activating that webcam took more than an hour tonight. And then, if Mr. S returned... when Mr. S returned... Rodney would know what he was doing to his friend. 

And what aliens were being active in New York. 

~~~

Hacking the New York City morgue was as uncomplicated as Rodney imagined. City IT staff was no match for someone of Rodney's genius. Then he contemplated the amount of data he would receive and how to sort through it, as he had no interest in watching or even speeding through Carson's entire day. Just because he wasn't distressed by dead bodies didn't mean he wanted to watch them dissected. Developing a program to scan the daily digital file, looking for a man of a certain height, build, and hair color took a little longer, but Rodney was satisfied with his programming when he staggered off to bed that night, his orange tabby cat Data curling up in the crook of his neck. 

The next few days eroded his confidence as he ran his program every night and it found absolutely nothing to identify for him. He reminded himself that if some fellow was wiping Carson's mind, hopefully it wasn't happening very often. 

Two weeks later, he was vindicated, as his computer beeped at him, indicating he should watch a segment. He sat down on his plush desk chair in his living room, still eating his dinner. Data joined him, leaping into his lap as he clicked play. Carson was beginning an autopsy, his voice recorder on, making his customary comments about the corpse's appearance, especially any outward signs of violence, which seemed to be numerous. Sticking his fork into his bowl of spaghetti and dropping it on the desk, Rodney began to wish he'd had the program start when Mr. S appeared, instead of 10 minutes before. Making sure he understood the full situation no longer seemed quite so vital. 

On the computer monitor, Carson jumped back, giving an exclamation of surprise, and Rodney perked up. The corpse seemed to glow and split, a small gray alien emerging from its torso. A gray alien with a spindly body, big eyes, and no obvious hair or genitalia. The alien pulled its arms out of the corpse's arms, resting its hands on the sides of the torso. It was clearly smaller and shorter than the corpse it had been using as a disguise. 

"Who are you? How - " Carson sputtered into silence. 

"Forgive my sudden appearance. My frame has been severely damaged." The alien's voice was mild in tone and it sounded genuinely regretful for having startled Carson. 

"Your frame?" Carson poked at the arm of the corpse. "This is an artificial construct?" 

"Yes. It allows me to live in New York without attracting attention. It is the greatest city in the world, don't you think?" 

"Aye, New York is quite amazing, but I need to visit the Scottish highlands regularly, to revive my energy. New York can be draining." Carson's face had a wildness on it, like he couldn't quite believe he was making small talk with an alien. "How did you get here, and where did you come from, and who built you this construct, Mr. um," he glanced at the notes on his tablet sitting by the dissection table, "I assume your name isn't Benny Southstreet?" 

"My birth name is Balder, but I'm used to being called Benny." 

Carson's expression got even more perplexed, as if imagining this small alien was named after a Norse god was even more surprising than watching him coming out of a corpse. "Balder? That's quite a coincidence, that your parents would name you after an earth deity. I assume your parents were on … some other planet?"

"Actually, Balder was named after me. Or I suppose I should say, the original me. I'm a clone of the first Balder." 

Carson sat down abruptly, his chair rolling slightly back. "This is a lot to absorb, Benny." 

"Benny," said another voice from off-screen. 

Rodney punched the air in victory as S walked into the room. 

S glanced at the construct, obviously noting the bruises and contusions that had been inflicted on the alien's fake body. "You look like you got into some trouble." 

"I'm sorry, S," Balder said, quite apologetically. "You know I do like to explore all the interesting places in New York." 

"Just because you were named for a gambler doesn't mean you need to get into trouble like him." 

"A gambler?" Carson asked. 

"Guys and Dolls," S answered, even as he was putting on sunglasses. "Nathan Detroit or Sky Masterson seemed too obvious, so we went with a secondary character." 

"I still would have preferred Nicely-Nicely. I like that name," Balder lamented. 

"Not for a formal name, I told you that, Benny. Close your eyes." 

Balder's eyes, which seemed too big for his face, closed slowly, as Carson still looked perplexed, apparently having difficulty absorbing the presence of an alien and the chit chat between him and S. Then S held up an object that looked like a fancy pen, and a bright light flashed from it. "Now, Carson, please pick up your tablet and delete all the data on Benny Southstreet and delete it from the delete file." Carson followed instructions, moving like an automaton, as S continued talking. "Then delete the file on your voice recorder. You never saw Benny's body, you never saw Balder come out of it. You never saw me. You've been quietly working for the last hour. It's been a very peaceful, productive morning. You'll take a break soon for a nice cup of tea." 

Carson looked blank and nodded, as Balder laid back down into the construct. S threw a sheet over him and pushed the gurney out of the room. Rodney watched as Carson sat still for another minute, then shook himself, and muttered under his breath, "Now what was I doing? Oh yes, I was going to finish the monthly report." Carson went back to working as if nothing had happened. 

Rodney paused the scene, and pushed a foot against the desk, starting his desk chair slowly rotating. Data stayed on his lap, letting Rodney pet him as he thought. Aliens existed. Aliens existed and some of them lived in New York. Someone built them constructs so they could live among people. That technology didn't unduly surprise Rodney; robotics had been advancing steadily. But to be realistic enough to pass unobserved among people? Perhaps the alien had helped the development of the construct with his own technology. 

Was Balder the only alien on Earth? Carson's mind had been wiped before, at least twice, so unless Balder was particularly good at getting killed and ending up in the morgue, there were more aliens in the city. 

S had memory-wiping technology, either a secret Earth development, or perhaps alien. He was accustomed to hiding the presence of aliens. Was he a government agent, part of a secret off-shoot of the FBI or CIA? Or had the aliens ended up working with a private company to help them live on Earth? 

Questions, too many questions. Rodney's brain swirled with the possibilities of human-alien interaction. Normally, he loved questions, but for a conspiracy this big, this significant? He wanted answers. 

~~~ 

Answers did not come as easily as Rodney had anticipated. He hacked databases, which took an annoying amount of time as state and federal agencies had better security than the city, discovering to his frustration that S didn't appear to have a driver's license or pay taxes. 

He finally hacked the traffic cams, which helped to develop a pattern of S's movements, and several incontrovertible facts. (1) New York City was indeed inhabited by several types of aliens. (2) Some of them took the same effort as Balder to blend in, but not all of them. (3) S looked really hot running after aliens. (4) S looked even hotter shooting strange, alien weapons. (5) S wasn't alone in his work, occasionally being joined by a big man with a solid right hook or a petite woman who was a ferocious martial artist, both of whom wore identical black suits.

Maybe all three were also aliens? How else could they manage to look so cool and collected while wearing so much black in the miserable New York summer weather? 

Rushing home every day to check out the Daily S Show, as Rodney thought of it, was both fascinating and frustrating. Traffic cams were primarily located on intersections where the city expected to be able to issue tickets, which meant large gaps in coverage. Rodney would see S for a few blocks, perhaps chasing some long-legged blue thing, and then he'd run around a corner and be gone. 

He needed more data. How to get it? 

Jeannie called one night, part of her periodic attempts to keep them united as a family, babbling as she usually did about her small child. Rodney half-listened, making the occasional noise that might sound like interest. She was his sister, his only immediate family, and he did appreciate that she kept up contact, even if he found little to say to her, since 'you should go back to working as a scientist and do something more productive with your life than finger painting with a five-year-old' had been received with such hostility. Though listening to her… 

"Hey, all that genealogical research you do?" 

"I was talking about Madison's recital, Mer."

"Yes, yes, it sounds like she's very talented." Piano, right? That's what he had done at recitals. But no, dance had recitals too, better to not say anything more specific. "I was looking at that information you sent on the McKays, and I wondered, if you were trying to look for someone and only had a picture, what would you do?" 

"Was the picture taken at a historical event? There are databases of old historical pictures; I'd probably start with those."

"What about a more recent picture?" 

"How recent?" 

"Last week." 

"Maybe Facebook? Most people have accounts. Everyone gets tagged by their facial recognition software. How do you have a picture of someone you can't name? Are you stalking someone?" 

"No, of course not," Rodney defended himself, though he supposed technically he was, even as he sat down at his computer and started pulling up Facebook. "Facebook, anything else?" 

"Instagram, Snapchat, there are a lot of social media sites, Mer." 

"Thanks, you've been a big help," he said, attention already absorbed into figuring out Facebook. "I'll talk to you again soon," he promised, hanging up before Jeannie could pester him more about his stalking. His brain had a last hope that she had been finished with the story of Maddie's recital and so wouldn't hold his abrupt hang-up against him, and then it was fully absorbed with his current exploration. 

~~~

"People on Facebook are insane. I'm not sure which is stranger, that they think anyone cares about pictures or their lunch or the amount of misinformation shared with a total lack of critical or analytical thinking." 

Rodney wasn't sure that Radek was paying him much attention, continuing to type on his laptop while Rodney paced their office at the university and ranted, but that was okay. He had to express his disdain at what his research on social media had discovered, since he couldn't very well admit to his frustration that the mysterious S appeared only briefly, usually caught as he was clearly stepping away from whatever alien activity he'd just controlled and encouraged with his shiny pen device to make people think was a sewer explosion caused by a faulty gas line. New York infrastructure would be in completely disarray, if gas lines were as decrepit as S pretended. 

"You were on Facebook?" Radek asked slowly, indicating that he was at least paying as much attention to Rodney as Rodney paid to Jeannie. "Why?" 

Oops, there was a question he hadn't planned to answer. "Jeannie!" Rodney blurted, then paused. Yes, Jeannie had pointed out the potential usefulness of Facebook, she could be blamed. "Jeannie recommended it." 

"For you? Why?" 

"For staying in touch? She could post pictures of Madison's recital for me. And… their tofu-turkey lunches." 

"Yes, I can see Jeannie suggesting such a thing. I cannot actually see you bothering with it though." 

"I can do family things," Rodney said defensively. "I stay in touch with Jeannie." 

Radek gave him one of his patented looks, the kind where he tilted his head down and looked up over his glasses, his blue eyes saying, 'I will pretend to accept your insanity, as I am a nice, tolerant friend.' "That is very nice of you, Rodney." 

"Yes. I can do nice." He was Canadian, after all. 

"You also should do grading." Radek glanced over at Rodney's desk, overflowing with clutter that spilled onto his desk chair, the visitor chair, and the floor. The overflowing part was normal; Rodney had never been interested in investing his precious time in being anally neat. The fact that a large portion of the overflowing consisted of essays and papers was unusual. "I have never seen you so behind." 

"I've been occupied." 

"Yes, exploring the excitements of Facebook. I am not on Facebook or any social media, so I will not offer to friend you. And now you should be exploring a lecture, I believe?" 

Rodney followed Radek's look to the clock hanging over their door, swore, grabbed up his lecture notes, and ran. 

~~~

The day had been appalling. Seriously, how did some of these dunderheads make it into university? The fact that he'd been unprepared and disorganized had only led to questions that were even more ridiculous than normal. Not only were his researches into the mysterious S eating into the attention he owed to his students, but also into the time that he might have devoted to his own research. But he'd had a new thought today, of researching Benny Southstreet, which should have come to him earlier. His obsession with S had led him to ignore that he knew the name of an alien living in New York. Surely Benny had more government records that would be easy to find? An alien would want to have the appropriate, albeit faked documentation. Benny's records should reveal when he first settled in New York, if nothing else, because they would be more thorough after he'd begun living here.

Or was Benny like S, with no records at all? 

First he'd eat dinner and watch the file he'd been putting together of S's greatest hits, his occasional sprinting after an alien, the one time he'd slid over the hood of a car, the frantic fight with the guy who'd bizarrely sprouted tentacles, the intensity on his face when he fired a weapon. Watching S protect the city was strangely fascinating. Then Benny's background was his to discover. 

His keys jangled as he unlocked the door and both deadbolts. Stepping inside, he locked everything again, looking around his front room and calling for his cat. The desk chair swung slowly away from the monitor, revealing S with Data on his lap. 

"You! You – " Rodney's brains sped frantically. S had found him, how? Should he admit he'd been tracking him or was that rather a moot point? "How did you get into my apartment?" 

"Locks and deadbolts aren't much of a problem for us." 

"Us?" 

A sudden motion made Rodney register that a tall man was learning against the wall. The tall, very large man, who sometimes worked with S and who was way too good at both punching aliens and effortlessly holding them up in the air while S interrogated them. Rodney gave a yelp of surprise. "Where did you come from?" 

"Does it matter?" S stood up, approaching Rodney, putting on sunglasses as he did. "You've been a bad boy." 

"No, don't wipe my memory! My brain is very valuable!" 

"I'm sure it is." S was adjusting the expensive pen-looking object he used to steal memories. "Don't worry; we'll only take what's absolutely necessary." 

"No, please!" Rodney turned back to the door, frantically trying to unlock it and escape, but dreadlocks caught him by the upper arms, turning him to face S. "Please!" 

The sunglasses made S look merciless as he gave a mocking smile and demanded, "Say cheese," before there was a flash of bright light. 

~~~

Mornings were… inevitable. Rodney was fine with mornings as long as he had enough caffeine and the prospect of a decent day, neither of which were apparent today. He'd slept through his alarm, and getting ready frantically had reduced his allotted time to drink coffee. He only had two classes, but was obscenely behind on grading. Where had time gone lately? It seemed like he'd been too busy to keep up with the basics, though he couldn't quite remember why. 

Sitting on the subway, he paged through the syllabus for his first class, contemplating the brilliant lecture he intended to deliver. 

He had that weird twitchy feeling of being watched and glanced up to see a big guy staring at him. His watcher had dreadlocks and wore a dark gray hoodie, jeans, and boots. Rodney was not in any mood to be intimidated. Raising up his laptop, he said loudly, "You have a most interesting face. You don't mind if I put you on my Instagram, do you? There. You're immortalized now on the Internet. Interesting passenger on morning subway. Did you want me to add your name so you can be tagged across multiple social media platforms?"

The watcher only stared at him impassively before standing up to leave as the train slid to a stop in the station. 

What had brought up the idea of using social media? Rodney despised Instagam, SnapChat, Facebook, and that entire range of services, most of which only seemed to encourage people to be stupid together. The world had been a better place when people could only get drunk and be loudly idiotic at their local pubs for the benefit of their immediate neighbors. 

"That was pretty amazing," a guy said, sliding into the seat next to Rodney. He was really good-looking, a lean white guy about Rodney's height with dark messy hair, intense hazel eyes, and soft, kissable lips. 

"What, intimidating people to leave me alone? I've been doing that since I could talk. It's a useful and highly developed skill in a world of idiots." 

The fellow tossed back his head and gave out a weird, honking laugh. "You tell it like it is, don't you?"

I've never been good at dissembling." Rodney pointed to his own face. "My expression gives me away. I lie badly." 

"Why do something if you don't do it well? Or honesty is the best policy?"

"What? Either. Both."

"I'm John Sheppard." The fellow held out his hand and Rodney shook it.

"Rodney McKay, Ph.d, Ph.d." 

One of John's eyebrows arched in surprise, and Rodney noted his ears were slightly pointed, giving him a faint resemblance to an elf. Or Spock. "You have two doctorates?"

"Astrophysics and engineering." 

"I just have a master's in applied mathematics." 

"University?" 

"Stanford." 

Really incredibly good-looking, smart, and chatting up Rodney on the subway? This day was improving.

"What do you do?"

"I analyze immigration patterns for the government." 

"You have a Master's degree in applied mathematics and you're a government hack?" Rodney asked in horror, belatedly realizing that insulting a person's job was not the best way to continue being chatted up, if this was indeed more than casual conversation. Distinguishing the difference was not one of Rodney's strongest skills, or even much of a skill at all. 

Thankfully, John gave another of his honking laughs. "I went into the Air Force because I wanted to fly. I guess when I got out, it seemed natural to keep working for the government." 

"And this is my exit," Rodney answered as the train stopped. 

John glanced at the name of the stop, hazarding, "Columbia?" 

"Yes, I'm a professor there." 

"Rodney McKay, right? I'll look you up."

"Yes, I'm on the staff listing," Rodney said, taking that statement as a polite brush-off. To his surprise, he received an email later that day, from JSheppard@gmail.com. 

Nice chat this am. Want to meet for a beer? 

Rodney considered the email for all of five seconds before typing back, Sure. When and where? 

Tonight, at the Atlantis bar? 7:00 good? 

I'll see you tonight at 7:00, Rodney responded. 

He had a date, a hot date with a stranger who had taken the effort to look him up. Today was definitely a good day. 

~~~

Taking a deep breath, Rodney pushed open the door to the Atlantis bar where he'd agreed to meet John. The place was ridiculous, the walls painted in shades of blue with faint scenes of a majestic city, as if it was being viewed through water. A quick glance over the bar revealed a pleasing selection of beers though, the furniture looked comfortable, and the number of other patrons in the place was limited. In Rodney's experience, first dates were stressful enough without having to yell to be heard over conversations happening around him. 

John was sitting at a booth in the back, waving to attract Rodney's attention. He'd changed clothes from this morning, his button-down shirt and slacks replaced by a black t-shirt and jeans. 

"Hi," Rodney said, sliding into the booth opposite him, hoping that his shirt and dockers didn't look too bedraggled after a long day at work. He'd done his best to catch up on grading and hadn't taken time to go home and change. 

"Hi," John responded, as the waitress slid a plate of potato skins onto the middle of the table. Giving her a smile of thanks, John said to Rodney, "I had a crazy day and was starving so I ordered an appetizer. Potato skins okay?" 

"You have exquisite taste." Rodney popped a skin on the plate in front of him. "Have you ordered any beer? Yes, clearly so," he added as the waitress placed a glass of pale liquid in front of John. Glancing at the listing by the bar, Rodney asked for a Rasputin Old Stout. 

John arched his eyebrow. "You a dark beer guy?" 

"And you're a pale ale." 

"But we meet at potato skins."

"Potatoes, sour cream, and cheese, what's not to like?" 

John took a swig of his beer and picked up a skin. "You may drink beer that tastes like tar but you're a man after my own heart." 

The appetizers moved into dinner and finally dessert, Rodney discovering that he probably wasn't entirely a man after John's own heart, but they did share tastes and interests, and could talk easily about many subjects. Math, of course, and science, John seemingly quite interested and even asking relevant question about Rodney's research. They enjoyed many of the same science fiction and fantasy movies, books, and graphic novels. Sports as a subject was quickly dropped when Rodney bluntly told John that football was the most tedious sport imaginable, though the other man didn't seem to take offense, rolling his eyes in a good-natured way. 

John declined dessert, but didn't seem to mind watching Rodney indulge in an exquisite chocolate mousse. Feeling conscious at John's penetrating stare, Rodney wiped his mouth with his napkin. "Do I have mousse on my face?" 

"Actually," John said, his voice oddly low and intense, "I was wondering what else your mouth is good for." 

"Oh God, this is a date! I thought so, but – " Rodney floundered, feeling like a fool. 

"Hey, I never see it coming either," John reassured him. "It's, um, okay?" 

"Yes, absolutely." Rodney hesitated, but pushed forward. "My place is pretty close. Do you want to go there for a nightcap?" 

John's shiny upper teeth nibbled on his lower lip for a moment. "Maybe we could spend some time together this weekend? Only I've got an early morning meeting tomorrow." 

"Yes, this weekend sounds good," Rodney said cautiously, not sure if he was being rebuffed or not. 

"Hey." John caught Rodney's hand, brought it to his mouth, and kissed the palm, dragging Rodney's thumb into his mouth for a quick suck that Rodney felt zing all the way down to his balls. "I really want to spend more time with you, okay?" 

Rodney nodded, wishing tomorrow was Friday. 

~~~

Rodney woke out of a sound sleep, conscious that someone was talking loudly. He flailed, searching for the clock radio, assuming it had gone off early, because the room was pitch black and he was too tired for it to be morning. He hit the clock radio several times before realizing no, the clock radio wasn't going off and he didn't know why he still had it, having switched to using his phone as his alarm a long time ago. Also, that the voice sounded like his and was coming from his front room.

Shrugging his blue robe over his t-shirt and boxers, he stumbled out in time to see himself on his monitor, announce cheerily, "Of course, this is completely unnecessary, and you will never see it, but it will repeat again and again until you stop it, because if the secret man in black discovers that you're tracking him and wipes your mind, you - well, future mind-wiped me - need to know what happened." 

Rodney on the screen looked meditative. "I really hope I don't get my mind wiped. My brain is too valuable to be tampered with." The screen went black for a second before Rodney appeared again. 

"Hey, this is you, taking precautions and hoping that I - well, us - " he said, waving out to a viewer, "have legitimately discovered a government conspiracy and aren't following the example of our crazy great-uncle. A while ago - " 

Rodney watched in horror as he talked about Carson's mind being wiped, and his own research into Mr. S, all safely stored under a subfolder called Family History. He'd never even looked through that subfolder, merely downloaded Jeannie's research when she found something interesting in the genealogy that she thought he ought to know. "How boring and uninteresting, right? What government agent would care about genealogy? I don't even care about my ancestors, since my accomplishments will eclipse any of theirs. Unless the man in black fries my computer and the external hard drive? A freak electrical accident would be the best way to ensure I lose all data. Hey, I might not be so bad at conspiracy." He pointed at the screen again. "Except, no, I'm not becoming like our crazy uncle, this is only a minor bout of completely reasonable paranoia." 

Rodney watched the rest of the video, feeling more and more ill, because he didn't remember any of what he described. 

When the video finished, he clicked it off, finding and resetting the program to play again in another week, at a better time then in the middle of the night. What had he been thinking, setting the program for the middle of the night? He didn't know, because he couldn't remember. Thankfully, John hadn't taken him up on the offer to stay the night, or he would have heard the video and wiped Rodney's mind again. Rodney opened the subfolder and read and watched through the files he'd saved, tiredness and confusion battling with agitation, fear, and betrayal. 

~~~~

The university seemed calm in the early morning, though Rodney couldn't help glancing regularly around as he dashed into the science building and took the stairs to his office on the third floor. Radek, bless him, was already sitting in his chair, their shared coffee pot burbling away. 

Rodney yanked out the pot, grateful for the function that allowed it to stopped mid-cycle, and poured himself a large cup, before shoving it back in to continue. 

"I might have wanted first cup," Radek protested. 

"If you would have wanted first cup, you would have taken it already." Rodney swallowed several large gulps, imagining he could already feel the caffeine in his system. "Here." He thrust his laptop at Radek. "Watch the video file called Reminder under the Family History subfolder. Then look through the rest." 

Exhausted by being unable to sleep the rest of the night, Rodney sprawled in his chair, watching Radek's face as he played the video and scanned through the files. 

"What do I do now?" he asked, when Radek appeared to have hit the highlights. 

At a better time, the myriad expressions that crossed Radek's face might have been amusing. This wasn't a better time. 

"They realized what I was doing. Somehow they caught me and wiped my mind. Then John tracked me down, and I have no idea why." 

"Maybe he thought you were attractive and interesting and wanted to date you?" 

"Oh sure." Rodney rolled his eyes, admitting to himself the bitterness of realizing that his hot new boyfriend had ulterior motives. "He couldn't stay away from my brilliant mind." 

"Have you talked to Carson about this?" 

"What for? He didn't believe me the first time I told him his mind was wiped." 

"But now you have proof, and Carson might have an idea of how the brain wiping is done." 

"What does it matter how it's done? What do I do? I'm supposed to meet John again for dinner tonight."

"You do not think you can talk to him about this?" 

"Of course I can't. He'll wipe my brain and this time he'll fry my computer. And my work computer and every single device I own, if he's learned from his mistake." 

"I have a thought, I would like to take you to a friend who should be able to help you. Let me send her a quick email so she knows we are coming." 

"You have a friend who deals with government conspiracies?" 

"She is a… what would she be called, a security expert, I suppose. I believe she will be able to provide a solution for you." 

Rodney didn't see how anyone could help him, but with no other options, he was willing to take a chance on Radek's friend. Radek was almost as intelligent as Rodney and had shown himself to be a nimble, creative thinker, so surely it was at least talking to someone he thought could help. "Send your email," Rodney said. 

~~~~

Rodney followed Radek across the campus and to the subway station, getting out at a station in lower Manhattan. Radek seemed to sense Rodney's stress, because he made them stop at a coffee place on the walk and scarf down a pastry. 

"You look horrible, my friend. You need sugar." 

"Couldn't sleep last night." Rodney twirled his finger in the air by his ear. "My mind kept whirling." 

Coffees finished, they continued their trek, Radek occasionally making a comment, but otherwise in silence. They reached a stone building, impressive and large, with little architectural decoration and no title. Radek entered, nodding at a fellow sitting in the entryway. The fellow appeared to be security, though he was wearing a plain black suit rather than a security guard's uniform. Rodney frowned at the similarity of the outfit to John's as S, but kept following Radek through interior double doors into an elevator, and finally to an expansive open area. 

Several rows of people in black suits sat at desks, typing away on unfamiliar computers, while aliens stood in line in another area, waiting their turn to go through what appeared to be a security checkpoint. Most of the aliens were bipedal with the general body shape of humans, but some had flippers or strange-colored skin. One looked to be an oozing blob. 

"Oh lord." 

Rodney felt Radek's hand curl around his upper arm.

"Relax, my friend. No one will harm you here." 

"No, they'll just wipe my mind! Do you have any idea how many brain cells are destroyed each time that happens?" 

"Probably not very many," Radek responded, which did not comfort Rodney. "But I did not bring you here to wipe your memory." 

"He brought you here to see if I'd like to offer you a job," said a woman approaching them. She was a pretty brunette with intelligent eyes and like the rest, wore a black suit, only with a maroon shirt and no tie. "Why don't we talk in my office?"

~~~~

The woman's office was up a spiral staircase, suspended over the open area, and the walls were glass. Rodney ignored the visitor chairs, which looked like they'd been stolen from the 1960s cult classic The Prisoner, instead staring down at the people and aliens below. Aliens. Aliens from outer space. Every humble, mediocre, or brilliant SF movie or TV he'd ever watched, every pulp or classic novel he'd read, every fantasy he'd ever dreamed about finding alien life, and none of it mattered, because it was already here, living in New York City, a reality hidden from Rodney. That is, until he'd discovered it for himself and was now relearning the truth. 

Rodney's emotions had gone through many phases since watching the video last night. He'd reached livid. 

"How long have you known? How many times had we discussed the possibility of alien life and you didn't say anything, didn't just mention, oh by the way, I had a nice chat with a - " Rodney turned his stare from the aliens below to Radek, "pink-skinned Alpha Centaurian last night?"

"Alpha Centaurians have green skin," Radek corrected. "But how long have I known there are aliens?" Radek's eyes blinked, momentarily becoming all-blue, no black pupil or white sclera showing. "Since I crash landed on this planet while fleeing the oppressive government on my own." 

"Oh." Rodney abruptly decided that The Prisoner chairs weren't a pretentious rip-off of a great series and sat down. "You're an alien?" He looked at the woman, who had been sitting silently behind her desk. "And you, Ms., Mrs., um - ?"

"Please call me E. And no, I was born in Milwaukee. My great-greats came from Ireland and Germany." 

"Scotland," Rodney replied. "Well, McKay, you could figure that out." 

"Yes, we've done exhaustive research on you." 

"You have?"

"We have, since Radek suggested you would be a good match for our science program." 

"He did? Well, of course he did. I am one of the foremost astrophysicists on this planet." 

E and Radek shared a fleeting look which made Rodney realize they dealt with alien culture and alien science, which might be decades or even centuries beyond Earth's. Alien science, so much to learn, to explore, even to advance. The idea that he might again be a novice in his fields of study was both a frustration and a fantastic challenge to someone of Rodney's intellect.

"The research you did in tracking down S was amazing, and revealed the gaps in our processes for remaining anonymous. We would like to hire you to fix them." 

"Wait – you want me for my hacking skills?" 

"This agency relies on secrecy, Doctor McKay. You shouldn't have been able to find out what you did. I believe in hiring the best expert in the field." 

Rodney waved one hand dismissively. "I am not the most expert hacker in the country. Perhaps in the top 10. I'm an astrophysicist." He pointed out the glass windows. "There are aliens down there with alien knowledge and technology. That's what I should work on." 

E nodded. "Definitely. Our adaptation of alien technology for useful purposes on Earth is how we fund our budget. Radek thought your engineering and science background would make you expert in exploring and adapting alien science for our purposes." 

The knowledge that he hadn't been desired only for his hacking skills mollified Rodney's indignation. "I could certainly work first on filling the gaps in your defenses. That should be easy to knock out before moving onto more relevant work."

"Good. Our personnel office will review your salary and benefits paperwork with you. I think you'll find we're quite generous. And then they'll process the elimination of your identity." 

"What?" 

"We're a top secret agency, Doctor McKay. No one has a government record." 

Of course, Rodney knew that John didn't have a government record, but he hadn't made the leap to realize that no one in this agency would. Becoming an initial didn't work for him. "And if I never have a government record, I can never win a Nobel Prize. Absolutely not. I remain Doctor Rodney McKay." 

E looked startled. Clearly she had not anticipated his refusal. "You'd never have to pay income taxes." 

Folding his arms over his chest, Rodney stared back at her defiantly. "I have no qualms about paying taxes on my Nobel Prize award money. But I have to have an established record to win one.

"Besides, I have a sister. Unless you fake my death, she'll be looking for me, and she'll find me." Would she? They'd had rocky times and lapses in communication but yes, on reflection, Rodney was confident that Jeannie would ultimately search for him. She had his stubbornness and the brains to find him, even if he living as an initial. 

"Allowing you to retain your identity would violate agency policy."

"Radek has an identity." 

Radek gave him a 'leave me out of this' glare, which Rodney had no compunction about ignoring.

"Radek is an alien under our protection who consults for us. He's not an agency employee." 

"Fine, make me a consultant. I'll keep up a part-time workload at the university. I don't need to be an official agent." 

E studied him, apparently thinking through the pros and cons of his suggestion, and finally nodded. "We'll give it a try. It might be useful to have an important scientist on staff to filter out technological advances." 

"Good." And since Radek felt at liberty to give hiring advice, Rodney thought he'd make one of his own. "And I suggest you stop wiping Carson Beckett's mind and bring him onto staff too." 

"Carson Beckett? That's the city coroner?" 

"He's actually a medical doctor and researcher temporarily working as a coroner because his funding fell through. That flashy pen device should have a full examination of how many brain cells it destroys and I do hope you have medical staff checking all these aliens for possible contagions?" 

"We do, but we can always use another good doctor. I'll review his record." 

"Thank you," Rodney said, feeling pleased. Maybe Carson would be able to restore his memory of the weeks spent tracking John. 

"Well, as a consultant, you won't need to wear the suit full-time, but you should at least be equipped for when you need it. S, can you take him downstairs and get him kitted up?" 

"Sure," was the laconic reply, and Rodney turned to see John lounging in the doorway, looking as ridiculously hot as always in his sharp black suit. 

"You!" he exclaimed, jumping up from his seat and stalking toward him, to find his elbow clasped and himself guided out of E's room, down the stairs, past the collection of humans and aliens, and into a corridor at the far end of the room. "You wiped my memory." 

That accusation earned him a grimace of regret. "Yeah, about an hour before E reviewed Radek's report and decided you should be considered for hiring." 

In a lower tone, Rodney accused, "And then you invited me on a date and I would have had sex with you." 

"Yeah." John licked his lips, giving Rodney a sideways glance. "I don't have an excuse for that." He shoved Rodney into a room and against the wall, cupping his face with his hands. "I wanted to." 

"Why? Was that part of an assignment?"

"I didn't need to date you to investigate you. I … just wanted to." 

"Why? Rodney persisted. 

"Is it really that hard to figure out?" John asked before leaning against Rodney and capturing his lips in a searing kiss. Rodney resisted for a second then relaxed and kissed back, because who was he kidding? Even if they wiped his memory again, kissing John Sheppard was too exquisite to miss. 

John broke the kiss. "We need to get you dressed." 

"Now?" Rodney whined because getting dressed was not top of his priority list. Getting undressed perhaps.

"Yeah." John's gaze raked down Rodney's body, wearing his customary casual shirt and dockers. "I bet you look great in a black suit." 

"Oh." Rodney blushed with pleasure at the compliment. "Actually, I look better in a blue suit." 

John nodded. "Goes with your eyes. Unfortunately, this is what we have." He pushed a panel, which slid back, revealing an entire row of identical black suits. 

John helped Rodney undress, leaving his t-shirt and boxers, apparently undergarments weren't required to be regulation issued, and redressed in a black suit, white shirt, narrow black tie, black shoes, and a black triangular shaped wristwatch. There were multiples of each item in the room and John had an uncanny knack for picking ones perfectly in Rodney's size. 

They stood together, regarding their reflections in the mirror, both looking pretty hot, Rodney thought. "Blue really is my color," he said, "but this works." 

John rested his hands on Rodney's shoulders. "You've got the build for a suit." 

Rodney giggled, a sudden sharp burst of noise. "I've just become part of a government conspiracy, hiding the existence of aliens and we're discussing fashion." 

"Clothes make the man," John said with mock piety. "But I'm more of a doing guy than a discussing one." 

"Doing?" Rodney frowned at them in the mirror. "Doing what?" 

"Welcoming you to the Men In Black." John tugged at Rodney until he turned, finding himself being held in John's arms and kissed again, a long, deep kiss with lots of tongue. Rodney buried his hands in John's messy hair and kissed back. 

"Please tell me there isn't a rule against co-workers fraternizing," Rodney pleaded when John released his lips. 

John gave a quiet laugh. "Even if there was, you'd make E make another exception for you." 

"You were listening to our conversation?" 

"Yeah, I was hanging outside. I wanted to make sure it went well." 

"And if it hadn't?" 

"I would have popped in and found a way to make it work out." 

"Oh." Rodney couldn't remember the last time someone had been determined that they shouldn't be separated. Possibly never. "I need to sign the personnel paperwork, and then maybe you could take the afternoon off?" 

"I think that could be arranged." He took Rodney's hand and pulled him toward the door, and his new life as part of the Men In Black. 

~ the end ~

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Story_Works challenge on Livejournal. My thanks to popkin16 for the encouragement to write it and get it finished.


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